


The First Thing I Hear is Your Voice

by elfofthedarkside



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Love Confessions, M/M, Slightly angsty fluff, because it's all I know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 22:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14459184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfofthedarkside/pseuds/elfofthedarkside
Summary: Patrick opened his eyes. At least, he tried. There was nothing to see. No, wait. Light. Bright, blinding, white. And a shape…“Pete…?”The shadowy figure let out a relieved sigh. “Yes, yes. It’s me. It’s okay. You’re okay.”Those words… that was confirmation enough. “...I’m… dead…”Memories are fuzzy. There was definitely a mugger. A gun. A shot. Darkness. And... someone had kissed him.





	The First Thing I Hear is Your Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Really short fluffy piece to get myself back in the habit of actually finishing stuff. Yeah, it's easy when it's less than 1000 words. I'm trying, I promise.

“...rick…” The voice sounded worried, but it still filled Patrick with a peaceful comfort.

“...Patrick, come on…”

Patrick opened his eyes. At least, he tried. There was nothing to see. No, wait. Light. Bright, blinding, white. And a shape…

“Pete…?”

The shadowy figure let out a relieved sigh. “Yes, yes. It’s me. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Those words… that was confirmation enough. “...I’m… dead…”

The figure shook his head. “No, you’re fine.”

“No, I know.” Patrick’s thoughts were still cloudy, but he knew this much. “It’s okay, though… I always knew…”

“Patrick, you’re not-”

“This is heaven.” Patrick smiled weakly. “I know it is. I always knew your voice would be the first thing I heard.”

“Patrick…” The figure’s voice broke. “You’re fine. You’re alive. I swear.”

The memories slowly faded into the forefront of his thoughts, though the words were still reluctant. “But… I remember…” He shook his head. “There was a man. A gun. He shot me. You… you held me, and…”

“And you told me something.” The figure using Pete’s voice urged him to continue.

“Yes.” Patrick felt his brow furrow--did spirits have brows?--as he recalled what happened next. “You were crying… and I died.” He felt confident. “I saw myself from outside my body. An… an angel with your- with  _ Pete’s _ face came down and…” The recollection caused him to smile again, a warm, content feeling spreading through him. “...and you kissed me. I remember that. Then you pulled me close… carried me…” Patrick frowned. “And then nothing. Now I’m here.”

“Patrick, there was no angel.” The shadow was slowly solidifying into a familiar form; warm brown eyes meeting Patrick’s.

“Then who…?”

Pete--was it really him?--laughed softly. “I did, dumbass. Couldn’t exactly not, after you basically poured your heart out.”

Patrick felt confused. “You? Why?”

“I thought…” Pete’s voice broke again. “I thought I was gonna lose you. I didn’t want… I figured if you were going to confess during your last seconds, the least I could do was… was…”

The bright white light was softening, revealing the clean hospital room. Patrick’s throat closed up. “You felt… you wanted…”

Pete was crying, matching the last image Patrick had had of him, but this time he looked happy. “I love you, moron. Can’t believe I almost let you die without knowing.”

“You love…” Patrick’s eyes stung in reply. “Me- me too. I mean, I love- I- ah, fuck-”

Pete laughed, and Patrick thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world. “The man with the golden voice and silver tongue tripping over his words for me? I’m speechless.”

“Fuck you.” Patrick was laughing now, too. He felt a dull pain in his abdomen, but that could wait. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” Pete leaned down and kissed his forehead gently, then his nose, finally landing on his lips. Patrick wanted to reach up and pull him closer, but his arms still felt heavy. Pete noticed his frustrated expression. “It’s the anesthesia. You can throttle me later for being an idiot, but you should rest until then.”

Patrick grumbled softly, but he did still feel tired. He nodded, eyelids growing heavy. This time, he wasn’t scared. He knew for sure Pete would be there when he opened them again, and it would be real.

“You sure you didn’t get it backwards?”

Patrick just barely heard Pete’s comment. “Wha…?”

Pete chuckled, his warm hand enveloping Patrick’s. “Obviously,  _ your _ voice is awaiting  _ me _ at heaven’s gate.”

“Hm.” Patrick hoped Pete could tell that he was mentally rolling his eyes, even through the silly grin he couldn’t contain.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where this idea came from. My brain sometimes just goes "hey, let's kill one of the boys off. just for funsies. in the other's arms." Maybe I should have a stern talking to about what's enjoyable to write/read. Although I did feel delightfully emo when writing this. Protip: "Tendrils of Tenebrae" by Steampianist on repeat does wonders for angst fuel.


End file.
